


Knew Better

by QuickSilverFox3



Series: Whumptober 2019 [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bedside Vigils, Blood and Injury, M/M, Mutual Pining, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 09:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20992400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: “Dorian?” Blackwall asked, voice cracking, suddenly aware of the dryness of his throat, the lightness in his head. How long had he been in this room? And he would continue to wait.[#10 Unconscious]





	Knew Better

**Author's Note:**

> [ My Tumblr!](https://inkformyblood.tumblr.com) Requests are always welcome!

Blackwall knew better. He _knew_ better. One single moment, half a heartbeat's worth of lapsed concentration and his entire world had come crashing down around his ears. Would the real Blackwall - tall and broad, not carrying a secret that threatened to swallow him whole - have been able to stop this? They were dangerous thoughts, black dogs biting at his heels, but he couldn't stop himself. The pain he could control was preferable to sitting around and doing nothing, helpless and furious.

He was a soldier before he was a Warden. And he was barely a Warden. It had been a relief in the dead of night when Blackwall woke, sweat soaked and gasping for breath, that his dreams were haunted by the mundane dead rather than the watchful eyes of Archdemon's and Darkspawn. But now? Now he longed to be a Warden if only to be distracted from the images of Dorian crumpling to the ground, blood streaming from his rolled back eyes.

Blackwall raised his head from the scratchy wool blanket to stare at Dorian. He would hate it in the infirmary. He had hated it during the short amount of time one of the Sister’s managed to pin him down after missions to tend whatever cut he had picked up and, on one memorable occasion, when Blackwall himself had carried him into the small room, slung over one shoulder when Dorian had tried to escape one too many times. Dorian had complained, words muffled as the mage buried his face into the crook of Blackwall’s shoulder, nails digging into his forearms as the Sister tended to the wound on his back.

Afterwards Dorian had stayed with Blackwall rather than flee to the tavern and return, alcohol warmed and false face firmly slipped on. It had been nice, more human than Blackwall had felt in a while, sharing companionship with another person, unable to move away from Dorian’s side, some unknown force compelling him to stay. He had been down that path before, giving his heart away to nobles who would sneer at his roughed hands and thick accent before breaking his fragile heart. And yet… he was hoping, despite his past, for something different with Dorian.

Blackwall took hold of Dorian’s hand, far bolder than he would have been if the other man had shown any sides of waking, feeling the callouses on his hands, not from wielding a blade but from a pen.

“Dorian?” Blackwall asked, voice cracking, suddenly aware of the dryness of his throat, the lightness in his head. How long had he been in this room? And he would continue to wait.

—//—//

“I’ll just stay here shall I?” Dorian yelled, punctuating his words by jabbing his staff towards the nearest demon with an artful flourish, lightning exploding from the tip. The Inquisitor yelled something that was lost on the wind, feet barely seeming to touch the rocks as they raced towards the rift, Anchor exploding into life with an answering roar, Solas hot on their heels.

Blackwall laughed, delighting in the way Dorian turned to him, preening at his reaction. In the wild animals would have to prove they were the best option, the best provider, the best protector. People were not so different.

"Stop showing off. There'll be plenty of time to create some pretty sparks later!" Blackwall called back, grunting as he blocked one swipe and then another, following up with a swipe of his sword, black blood splashing onto the ground.

He should have known, should have seen. But the Inquisitor reached the Rift, Anchor beginning to close it and more demons, more than they had ever seen from the Rift's exploded outwards. The battle passed in snatches, one opponent blurring into the other, blocking one attack only to have to counter another, arm turning to lead, sweat stinging his eyes as Dorian's magic crackled past him, hitting the targets that Blackwall slowed down.

One missed step, one lapse of attention and it was over. Dorian yelled and Blackwall turned, blood turning to ice. Dorian staggered backwards as the demon charged towards him, the ground at his feet littered with discarded lyrium potion bottles, staff trembling as he raised it, teeth bared. The magic didn't flow from Dorian, he pushed it, magic responding like a starved beast and exploding in a shimmer of black glittering particles, tinting green where the lift from the closing Rift caught them.

Dorian looked at Blackwall over the smoking corpse of the demon and grinned, teeth stained red with blood, as his eyes rolled backwards in his head and he collapsed.

\--//--//

Blackwall pressed Dorian's unmoving hand to his lips, feeling the coolness of his skin and prayed to the Maker, prayed to Andraste or whichever Gods or powers were listening, for Dorian to wake up.


End file.
